


Five times Enjolras discovered one of Grantaire's talents

by jenny_wren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_wren/pseuds/jenny_wren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the brick Grantaire has all sorts of talents, so this is five times Enjolras discovered one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Enjolras discovered one of Grantaire's talents

The Musain had shut for the night and the barista, Eponine, was slowly closing it down. She hadn’t asked him to leave, he suspected she’d forgotten he was there, so Enjolras was still quietly sitting in the corner Les Amis had claimed for their own working on his iPad. He planned to leave soon, he just had a few last notes to make.

Anyway, Grantaire was still there too.

Enjolras peered around the edge of the pillar at the art student. Grantaire was slumped over the table, head hidden in his arms. He was passed out or fast asleep – maybe some mixture of both. Enjolras couldn’t really work it out.

There was a lot he couldn’t work out about Grantaire. He had no idea why Grantaire persisted in showing up at Les Amis meeting for a start. But when he had asked his friends, Courfeyrac had laughed and Combeferre had shaken his head at him, so Enjolras knew it was one of those things he was supposed to understand and just didn’t.

He didn’t like looking stupid any more than anyone else did so he let the subject drop and pretended like everything made sense. He did that lot and had got quite good at faking it. Things never actually made sense though.

Like Grantaire. Grantaire made no sense. Enjolras often wished humans came with operating manuals. Though Grantaire’s would probably be in ancient Greek or something equally ridiculous and be no help at all. 

Not that he wanted to find out any more about Grantaire, he knew quite enough already, thank you. There was just one little thing that kept niggling at Enjolras and he was sure if he could figure it out he could tuck Grantaire safely away in the back of his mind.

He had nearly asked tonight, then, mindful of the last time he’d asked about Grantaire, he bit his tongue instead. Now the nagging curiosity was making him twitchy.

Enjolras desperately wanted to know why Grantaire was allowed to stay in Musain as long as he liked when he never bought more than one coffee, and often nothing at all if he’d brought his own bottles of beer with him.

It was a rule that you bought a coffee at least once an hour. Combeferre had explained it to him one time when Enjolras was getting glared at by the baristas without knowing why. Once he understood, it all made perfect sense, obviously you had to keep buying coffee for table rent. Now if he settled down to work in a coffee shop, Enjolras set his computer to chime every hour to remind him to pay his rent. Enjolras was never rude on purpose. (Except to idiots who thought demeaning language or actions were appropriate – and to Grantaire sometimes, but that was different, Grantaire was the most annoying person in world, even a saint would argue with Grantaire.)

Grantaire never tipped either, which was plain awful. The only reason Enjolras had never spoken out was because Grantaire so rarely bought anything, he technically wasn’t being served most of the time.

Still the point stood. Even Enjolras’ father believed in tipping, (his mother never tipped, but Enjolras had pretty much made it his life’s mission to act the opposite to mother on every available occasion).

So really Enjolras had no idea why Grantaire was allowed to hang around the Musain all the time. He’d been in residence even before Les Amis arrived, they’d sort of inherited him when they started holding their meetings there.

Across the room, Grantaire, as if he could feel Enjolras intent gaze burning between his shoulder blades, stretched as luxuriously as a cat, and sat up. He wandered over to the bar, where Eponine was deep in argument with coffee machine as it valiantly resisted being cleaned.

Grantaire leaned over the edge of the bar and rooted around underneath. Enjolras really would have said something, once he got over his shock, because he couldn’t countenance stealing, not even for Grantaire; but Grantaire was just turning the music up. The faint background noise was now loud and boisterous. Eponine looked up,

“R,” she sighed.

“Eponine,” he whined back, and then he was strutting towards her in time to the bouncing beat. It was such an aggressively masculine strut that Enjolras cringed on behalf of the male half of the human race, embarrassed that Grantaire could consider it remotely acceptable.

Shaking her head at him, Eponine turned back to the coffee machine. Grantaire reached out and grabbed her arm and did an insistent stamp of his feet. Enjolras shot to his feet to remonstrate. He could not allow Grantaire to hassle the wait staff.

Eponine scrubbed her hands through her hair as she gave in to Grantaire’s urging, then she deliberately straightened herself so she stood tall and poised. To Enjolras’ surprise she did her own quick stamp of feet, somehow mirroring Grantaire’s and, swinging her hips, picked her way delicately from behind the bar.

It was a dance, Enjolras slowly realized, as they strutted across the floor together. He hadn’t known Grantaire could dance, not a proper dance like that. But Grantaire was calling out directions, too quietly for Enjolras to recognize the unfamiliar terms, and then he and Eponine would launch themselves into the moves.

There wasn’t the smoothness Enjolras would have expected from the enforced watching of reality tv dance shows (Courfeyrac was a big fan) but it was alive and vibrant. And he enjoyed watching the way Eponine’s tiredness dropped away as Grantaire ushered her around the scattered tables until she was walking with regal grace of a queen.

Then Eponine was calling the moves, swinging them quicker across the impromptu dance floor, until she whirled away to dance by herself, Grantaire quietly echoing her, until the final moment when he spun around and dropped onto one knee before her as Eponine flung her arms in the air in triumph.

There was a brief pause and then another song started, the heavy beat rattling the room. Eponine started laughing, “Turn it off, turn it off,” she shouted. Grantaire sprinted across the room, throwing himself at the bar and the sound vanished to nothing. In the ear-popping silence, Enjolras could hear them both laughing and breathless.

“My lady,” said Grantaire, swooping a low extravagant bow.

“You crazy person,” Eponine scolded, pulling a glass cloth from where it was tucked into the back pocket of her jeans to thwack him with it. “Thanks, R, I needed that.”

“Good. Now you put your feet up and count the loot, I’ll finish up.”

“R.”

“Come on, I promised Musichetta I’d keep an eye on things. That includes making sure you don’t pass out over the coffee machine.”

“Fine. If you must.”

Grantaire bowed her to a chair with a flourish, and she laughed, shaking her head and no longer looking annoyed. Then Grantaire walked around the bar, popped the till, pulled out the cash drawer and carried it back to Eponine, who started to count the takings. Grantaire returned to the bar and rolled up his sleeves – the coffee machine gurgled and gave up the fight.

Enjolras watched fascinated as Grantaire moved around behind the bar with well-practiced ease, clearing the decks ready for the next day. He then emerged with brush, mop and bucket and started to put the chairs up on the tables out of the way.

“Here, I can sweep,” Eponine, pushed away from the table.

“Sit back down, young lady.”

“Grantaire - ”

“Sit down. You’re dead on your feet from slaving over your laptop.”

“The report is 50 percent of my mark.”

“I know Ep, I wasn’t objecting, but I can tell you stayed up half the night working on it, so sit down and let me help.”

She sat down. Her head tipped sideways, and with that she was dozing. Grantaire watched her head jerk for a second, then went over to carefully ease her arms up and body forward until her head was safely slumped in her arms.

Grantaire returned to his work, and Enjolras admired the smooth precision of his movements as he upended the chairs and placed them on the tables almost silently. Then he brushed and mopped the floor with quick competency.

“Ep,” he shook her shoulder gently. “Get up, we can go now.”

“Mmmph. I’m awake.”

“Sure you are, just let me turn the lights off.”

It was then Enjolras realized he’d have to speak up, or been locked in for the night. He also realized he’d been watching Grantaire when he wasn’t aware of it, and that was the sort of thing that upset people.

As the lights clicked off, he quickly stood up, the scrape of his chair loud in the silent café.

“Who’s there?” Grantaire demanded, and the lights blazed back.

“It’s me,” said Enjolras hastily, then realized that was hardly helpful and added, “Enjolras.”

“Apollo? What are you doing here?”

“I was working,” he said, then rubbed his eyes.

“You were working and you fell asleep,” Grantaire corrected with a grin.

“Maybe.” Enjolras tried not to grin too hard at his successful deception. Combeferre had explained the concept of a white lie to him, and Courfeyrac had taught him how to encourage people to make their own assumptions. It still seemed a lot of effort, but it made his friends happy. Grantaire was actually smiling at him, which almost never happened. Enjolras bounced towards the door.

Grantaire shook his head, “What are we going to do with you? You’re hopeless. Are you okay to get home?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Grantaire tilted his head to one side and studied him for a moment, “Okay yeah, you’re not pass out pale. You’re safe to go home and get some real sleep.”

“You should go home too, R,” said Eponine, “I can lock up.”

“Nope, I’ll come home with you, you can go to sleep and I’ll play computer games with Gavroche, and I’ll get him to school in the morning so you can lie in.”

“You will, really?” 

Grantaire squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, “Sure.” 

“Thank you,” Eponine’s voice wobbled, it sounded like she was about to cry. 

“Don’t thank me. If you’re too tired to come in, Musichetta would make me cover your shift.”

“And that would be _so_ terrible. Thank you R. I should tell you not to worry and to go back to yours but – ”

“You’re nice enough to let me bum around your place playing Super Mario instead.”

“Something like that. Just let me lock up and we can go.” She turned around, and flinched when she spotted Enjolras. “Oh, what are you still doing here?”

“I, uh, just wanted to say goodnight.”

“Well goodnight,” she said frostily.

“Lay off Ep, the poor guy’s half-asleep. Are you sure you’re okay to get home?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be going,” Enjolras hurried out the door. “Goodnight,” he waved awkwardly.

Grantaire cheerfully waved back, “Goodnight Apollo.”

As Grantaire and Eponine locked up the café, Enjolras walked away slowly trying to make sense of what he had heard. A squeal had him spinning back to see Grantaire hoisting Eponine over his shoulder while she shrieked to be put down. They were both laughing so hard Enjolras was amazed they could keep their balance.

Grantaire staggered a few paces under his squirming load before putting Eponine back on her feet. She smacked his arm as he danced away from her and then they were chasing each other down the street like they were little children.

It made Enjolras smile, and he realized he had an answer to his question as to why Grantaire never tipped. Of course now he had other questions.


End file.
